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Life was supposed to be simple for Li Zhao Yu. Study hard! Become a doctor. Unfortunately for his grandmother, Zhao Yu was not built for studying hard, or saving lives. Fortunately for him, there was a fortune to be made in taking them.
That brought him to the entrance of Kingdom Defense’s offices, boba in hand, messenger bag slung across his shoulder, ready for his first day as an intern. He’s met by a woman around his age, wearing a bright green beanie and even brighter yellow jacket.
“Klara Böhringer,” she introduces herself. “Head of R&D. We were all looking forward to your arrival, Zhao Yu. For a company this big, we don’t have a lot of staff, and we’re all very tight knit. Fresh blood means fresh ideas! I’m excited to see what you bring to the table.”
Zhao Yu thinks she’s expecting too much of him. Then Zhao Yu remembers he would rather like to keep a steady job making guns and other ways to kill people, so he just makes a noncommittal comment about how he’s excited to work with them, and smiles.
Klara shows him to his desk, which is… more of a workshop bench than an office table.
“Most of the time, you’ll be working under my guidance, helping me with existing designs we’re trying to perfect. Sometimes we get commissions for weaponry that have specific requirements or do specific things. And in any spare time when you’re not doing either of those, you can experiment with your own ideas! But do show us what you get up to, we might just be able to find a client with a use for it.”
Zhao Yu nods in acknowledgement.
“Now, here’s your first assignment,” Klara continues. “Aamir—you’ll meet him later—has been trying to find a way to mount a gun onto his spycams. I’ve sent you what he has so far. Go wild, and let me know if you need help. Oh, Mister Fabron!”
Zhao Yu turns to see what—or rather, who has caught her attention.
“Good morning, Klara, you and your jacket look as radiant as ever. And you must be the new intern, Zhao Yu. Welcome! We are all very excited to work with you.”
Standing in the doorway adjusting his tie is one of the most beautiful men Zhao Yu has ever seen. Dark haired, with gleaming golden tattoos that looked like they were made of real metal, standing out against his fair skin. A matching watch sits on his wrist, just below the hem of his burgundy, fingerless leather gloves. His dark eyes hold Zhao Yu’s gaze, a charming smile creeping across his face.
“Now, Klara, do give our newest member some interesting things to play with. We can’t all be satisfied with bots and nanotech and such. Some of us need a gun.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to hear Zhao Yu here has the most experience with firearms,” Klara chimes in. “Zhao Yu, this is Vincent Fabron, Lead Weapons Designer. Which is to say, he’s in charge.”
“Oh?” Vincent lifts one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Handsome and a weapons connoisseur? You tempt me!”
Klara gasps. “Mister Fabron, you cannot just say that—”
Zhao Yu is pretty sure that’s the kind of dialogue that a normal person would go to HR for.
…Zhao Yu soon finds out there is no HR.
He gets into the flow of things at Kingdom quite easily.
His work is surprisingly flexible, which he likes. He simply tinkers away, occasionally bothering Klara for help. He meets the other members of the R&D department. Tayane Alves, who loves explosions, but not as much as her girlfriend, Aamir, who refuses to share his surname, let alone his appearance, and Alexander “please, call me Sasha” Novikov, who seems to simultaneously get along awfully and perfectly with Aamir.
It’s eccentric company, but each of them is clearly very skilled at what they do.
One person he finds loitering in the R&D labs, perhaps too often, is Vincent. Zhao Yu suspects he would much rather be tinkering with the rest of them, rather than cooped up in his office dealing with paperwork. And honestly, who can blame him?
It’s not as if he’s out of place there. Vincent, he finds, is nothing short of a genius when it comes to firearms. To the point where Zhao Yu finds himself asking him for advice over Klara. In her defense, she truly didn’t care for their discussions about bullets which could leave a lingering slow field upon impact.
They head to the range to test the bullets, and nothing escapes Vincent’s critical eye. Zhao Yu takes the pistol they’ve put the bullets in—“Likely not the final product, but we are simply testing,” says Vincent—takes aim and fires at the target dummies.
The bullet explodes on impact, leaving an orange and violet miasma covering the body. Zhao Yu frowns.
“The diameter could be wider. Hm, I wonder if we could put some explosives into the capsule. Maybe I’ll ask Tayane about it…”
“An excellent idea,” Vincent agrees. “But I couldn’t help noticing. You are very skilled with that pistol. Would you be interested in fieldwork?”
Zhao Yu blinks. “Fieldwork? Like—”
“Combat, essentially,” Vincent explains. “Here, why don’t you join us this Friday? We have a routine assassination to carry out. Me, you, Tala, and Clove. Zyanya was going to join us, but alas, her sister is ill, so you can be our fourth.”
Zhao Yu should be afraid. Routine assassinations? What kind of company was this? What had he gotten himself into?
But it’s not like he didn’t have any experience with assassinations, he reasoned. How different could this be from the mercenary work he’d done to pay for college?
“Sure,” he finds himself saying. “I’m in. What’s the plan? Kill contract?”
Vincent throws his head back and laughs a full-bodied laugh. “Oh, I like you! We shall get along splendidly. Come, let me fill you in.”
Really, Vincent hadn’t been kidding when he called this a “routine assassination”. They meet Tala and Clove, two members of the combat sector, at the entrance of a fancy-looking bar. Clove greets him with a simple, “Hey!” but Tala seems suspicious.
“You’re putting the intern on a field run? Monsieur, I know you like him, but is that really a good idea?”
Zhao Yu feels his face go hot. What did she mean by—
“Tala, relax, nothing will happen! I simply want to watch him use a gun.”
…Why did he come here again? He hears Clove snicker from behind them.
“I think he’s blushing.”
Vincent snaps his fingers. “Focus now! Eyes on the target.”
They start following a pair of sleazy looking men as he leaves the bar. The three of them split up so as to not be noticed, ducking into the cover of darkness. The sound of their footfalls vanishes as quickly as their silhouettes, and soon, Zhao Yu can’t make them out at all.
Vincent grasps Zhao Yu’s wrist gently, his irises gleaming brightly. “Follow me,” he mouths, and they take off.
It’s too easy. Tala reappears in the mouth of an alleyway, skidding across the pavement and sending one of the men sprawling. The other, realising what was happening, tries to run, but before Zhao Yu can even draw his gun, Clove is on him, sweeping his legs out from under him in one swift motion.
Zhao Yu’s gun is trained on the second man, ready to take him out if he makes one wrong move. But contrary to the tense scene before him, Vincent steps forward looking completely relaxed, adjusting his cuffs.
“See? Routine.”
He draws a gun from its holster and spins it in his hand, catching it by the barrel and extending it, handle first to Zhao Yu.
“Tranquilizers. Would you do the honours?”
Zhao Yu accepts the gun and sends two quick-fire shots into the two men. “Tranquilizers?”
Vincent smirks, teeth gleaming something far too sharp. “We prefer them alive. Clove and Tala will dispose of them. Have a good time, you two!”
Clove looks at him suspiciously. “Don’t you want some?”
Vincent just waves his hand carelessly. “Oh, you know me, I don’t like to share.”
Clove’s eyes widen, like they just came to some sort of realization. “Oh… I see.” They exchange glances with Tala, and they both start snickering. “Alright, monsieur. See you at work!”
They both head off, dragging the two bodies along with surprising ease.
Zhao Yu is definitely missing something here.
“Are we not going with them?”
“Hm? Oh, no, they have that handled. We are going to check out this nice bar! I have been meaning to visit for some time.”
Zhao Yu follows him inside. This is definitely the kind of bar Vincent would like. Classy and chic, the place is busy, but not rowdy, dim, but not shady. A waiter seats them in a private booth and hands them a menu. Zhao Yu looks at the prices and gulps. He’s certainly never had a three thousand credit cocktail before.
Perceptive as ever, Vincent notices his discomfort and smiles reassuringly. “Order what catches your fancy—my treat.”
And something does catch his eye—a grapefruit-lychee cocktail of some sort. Zhao Yu isn’t usually one for drinking, but one thing he does have is an irresistible sweet tooth.
Vincent orders himself a cranberry drink, and once the waiter leaves, he turns his attention fully on Zhao Yu, clasping his hands together and resting them on the table.
“Not your usual establishment, I take it?”
“No,” Zhao Yu replies. “I usually go to the boba shop. But this place is really nice. Nice atmosphere.”
“It only opened recently. Last year maybe, or the year before. I’ve been trying to find an excuse to come.”
“So… your excuse is a post-murder snack?”
Vincent chuckles. “Kind of. But I must say, the only snack here is you, mon chéri. Why concern myself with disgusting, greedy men, when I can enjoy some good drinks and company as handsome as yourself?”
And maybe it’s the constant flirting that’s making his face so hot, or maybe it’s the alcohol, but it’s not just the alcohol speaking when he thinks of Vincent—handsome, rich, suave and realises he is very much attracted to this man, whether he is tinkering in the workshop with him, or flirting with him in a fancy bar, or even hunting down and kidnapping two men in the middle of the night. And he realises Vincent, who has been flirting with him since the day they met, might really, seriously be attracted to him as well. And Zhao Yu is thinking, he would very much like to see where this goes.
“Then I guess I should be careful, before I get eaten.”
Vincent’s knowing smile tells him this was exactly what he should have said. He leans forward, resting his arm on the table, and Zhao Yu matches his motions, sitting forward in his seat.
“Oh yes, you should. I’ll give you fair warning, mon chéri,” he says, teeth flashing in the dim light, incisors looking perhaps a little too long. “I bite.”
And Zhao Yu swallows his fear and exchanges it for excitement, the anticipation coalescing in his stomach. “What if I like that?”
Vincent’s eyes darken like a bloodstain. “You are playing with fire, Zhao Yu,” he whispers, “tempting me like this.”
So Zhao Yu leans forward until their noses are touching and their breaths are intermingling and whispers, “Then burn me.”
Vincent surges forward, crushing their lips together. Zhao Yu’s eyes flutter shut, leaning up into the kiss. The Frenchman is cold, probably from the night chill, but his lips are soft and inviting and Zhao Yu, flushed and breathless, is warm enough for the both of them.
His hand finds Vincent’s splayed on the table and their fingers intertwine, Vincent’s other hand tugging gently on Zhao Yu’s chin, bringing him closer, pulling him in. He was right, he thinks, that this is burning, and then his fingers weave into Vincent’s perfectly styled hair, and Vincent makes a small noise in the back of his throat, and he forgets how to think any longer.
When they finally break apart, Vincent’s hair is mussed up and his lips red and swollen, and Zhao Yu’s heart is probably audible from the way it’s beating right out of his chest. He stares, lips parted, a little bit stunned, a little bit overwhelmed, extremely giddy, because he did this to Vincent, he’s the one who gets to see him like this, he’s the one who can unmake him like this.
“Shall we take this elsewhere?” Vincent murmurs, just loud enough to be audible. “I’ll call a car to my place.”
Zhao Yu nods and follows him out.
It’s a good thing their driver had a separator for the back seats, because they could not keep their hands off each other the whole ride. It started with hand holding and turned into chaste kisses which devolved into Vincent climbing on top of him and onto his lap and kissing him vigorously, his lips moving against his in a slow waltz, Zhao Yu’s hands grasping his slender waist and pulling their bodies flush against each other. Vincent rocks his hips against Zhao Yu and he gasps, letting out a small, muffled sound against the older man’s lips.
They pull up to one of those gated communities, with rows of expensive looking condos. It’s well lit, even in the dead of night. Vincent takes him by the hand and they stumble into the elevator. He misses the button twice and Zhao Yu giggles at the ridiculousness of it all. Vincent just narrows his eyes and presses him against the elevator wall, hands splayed across his chest. He attacks his lips, then his jaw, then the shell of his ear and Zhao Yu hisses as teeth scrape cartilage. Vincent’s neck is right there, so he buries his face in the crook, kissing and marking up his neck to the underside of his jaw. He’s so much taller than him, but Zhao Yu is broader and could probably overpower him if he wanted to.
But he doesn’t. He stays happily pinned against the wall for the whole ride up to the top floor, which took an absurdly long amount of time, couldn’t they install faster elevators—mmph.
There’s a Frenchman kissing him stupid. Zhao Yu stops thinking about elevators.
Then the doors ding open and Zhao Yu finds himself being pushed onto the softest couch he’s ever sat on. Vincent straddles his hips, leaning over him, trying to find the best angles to kiss him. His hands work their way under Zhao Yu’s hoodie and the feeling of his bare fingertips on his skin is electrifying. He rests his hand on Vincent’s back, marvelling at the feeling of warm, plush lips against his. He doesn’t need to breathe, all he needs is this—this closeness, this warmth. Vincent is an excellent kisser, he should keep kissing him forever.
Vincent’s lips travel down the curve of his jaw, and Zhao Yu tilts his head back to give him better access, exposing his neck invitingly. Vincent’s teeth scrape across the side of his neck. He shudders.
“Please,” Vincent whispers, nose buried in the groove of his collarbone. There’s something in his voice, something desperate, something hungry. “Please, I want…”
“Whatever you want,” Zhao Yu whispers back, and Vincent gives a muffled groan before Zhao Yu feels a sharp sting in the side of his neck, which quickly morphs into an explosion of sensation. He inhales sharply. Vincent’s incisors have punctured deep in his skin and he’s sucking and lapping at the wound, sending pleasure radiating throughout his body from the bite to the very tips of his fingers and toes. He groans, throwing his head back, hips bucking up involuntarily. Stars dance across his vision as it darkens, but he can’t get away, doesn’t want to, just wants more of this, he should keep sucking if it feels this good.
All too soon, Vincent pulls away, blood smearing across his lips. Zhao Yu’s eyes meet his, slightly dazed. They’re brighter than usual—crimson, rather than their usual brown, and his skin looks healthier, less pale, less pallor. Zhao Yu leans upwards unconsciously, pressing his lips gently against Vincent’s, slow and gentle this time, languidly, like a cat in the warm sun. He tastes his own blood on his lips, and if that isn’t the hottest thing ever, he doesn’t know what is.
When they break apart a second time, Vincent looks less apprehensive, and Zhao Yu’s head is a lot clearer. “Wow,” he says. Vincent looks at him questioningly, and he elaborates. “That was… really good.”
Vincent chuckles. “Is that all you have to say? No panic, no screaming, no questions about me being…”
“A vampire?” Vincent nods. Zhao Yu thinks of radiants and radivores and a man made of shadow and a girl in the wind and says, “Not the strangest thing I’ve come across.”
Vincent looks at him like he’s seeing him in a whole new light, like they’re new people. “I have lived in this world for centuries, crossed paths with thousands of people, yet you might just be the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met. Certainly the loveliest.”
Zhao Yu ducks his head, flushed. “And you’re the most charming man I’ve ever met,” he says, causing a wide smile to spread across Vincent’s face. “I like this,” he says. “I like you. I like kissing you. I like us.” The words are spilling out of him now. He takes a deep breath. “Even… even if that means you want to drink my blood sometimes. I like the way it feels. I like us. I want to make this work.”
Vincent sighs, and for a moment, he looks very, very old.
“It never works,” he says, and Zhao Yu can hear hundreds of years of bitterness in those three words, and he realises he likes this man far too much to lose him now.
“I still want to try. Don’t you want to try?” he implores.
“Mon amour, for you?” He links their hands together, fingers curling around his like he didn’t want to let go. “I will try, for you”
They stay, basking in their closeness, as the sun stretches its first rays over the horizon.